I couldn’t find my toothbrush this morning. I put my hand into the basket in the cabinet in the bathroom where it resides, but it wasn’t there. So I looked in the basket, as well as several others places before giving up, and rather than be late to work, I opened one of the new ones I had on hand for guests. I could blame it on any of my three girls, except they’re all in their thirties and are dispersed onto both coasts. Bob’s not a likely candidate since, if not for other reasons, he uses one of those fancy electric ones.
This brings to mind one particular day I went to work and interacted with at least three people before I realized that I had on two different shoes. (Okay, c’mon. They were both navy blue.) And another day after work I noticed the tag to my shirt was on my front neck line. So what will be next? The motor oil in the freezer? And why should my life be so exciting?
I scare myself.
It’s just no use wasting too much time looking for something in the place it belongs when we have already labeled it as lost. If it were there, then it wouldn’t be misplaced. And sometimes you have to actually look in places where it should not be, (I’ve tried to convince Bob of this irrefutable logic), even if it is means humbling one’s self to do so.
Such was the plight of the first century religious leaders known as the Pharisees. Looking for a Jewish king who would deliver them from Roman oppression into a new Jewish state, they inadvertently “misplaced” their Messiah. He should most definitely NOT be found in a smelly stable born to a peasant girl who wasn’t even properly married yet! Heaven forbid (which, thankfully, Heaven did not…forbid that is.)
How often have I misplaced something more valuable than a toothbrush?! Or stared right at something without realizing that it was exactly what I was looking for? Or worse yet, intentionally thrown something away not appreciating its worth? Each of these circumstances still intimates “lost”. Unfortunately, this doesn’t just apply to things, but also time, self-respect, friendship, or here’s a big one—faith.
Thank God, that Baby “wrapped in swaddling clothes and lying in a manger” was more than merely a Jewish king, more than an Israeli deliverer, more than anything the religious leaders were expecting! And thank God that, because of His loss, I become His gain as He restores to me anything else to me that was lost, only in His timing and on His terms. Which are substantially better than my own.
Since writing the first part of this confession, I have found my old toothbrush, not that I was actively looking for it. I sadistically choose to let your imagination fill in the blank as to where it was.
Now if only I could find the motor oil.
(Just kidding, …really!!)
MERRIEST OF CHRISTMASES TO YOU AND YOURS!! –dawnlizjones